Healing Wounds
by Nibert
Summary: The war has changed Draco Malfoy but when he seeks protection from the Order of the Phoenix, he realises that the war has changed Harry Potter too. [Three Part HarryDraco]


**Author's Note: **Well, this is a little something that just popped into my head the other night and I couldn't help but write it. I'm not planning on making it a long term project, but it will be a little break from Harry Potter and the Cursed Amulet. As such, I can't guarantee how fast the next two parts will come out, but I hope relatively quickly. I happen to like this story.

It's also not the most original plot. When I say that, I don't mean I copied the entire storyline from another story somewhere on the internet; rather, most of the ideas in this story you have probably seen before. I suppose it's new, just with old concepts. At least, I've never read anything identical.

**Warning: **Just for those who cannot guess, this is a Harry/Draco story – yes, as in slash and all that. There's some naughty language, so beware. Also, I warn some of you that some of the major characters from the original series are dead; though I refuse to tell you which ones. And yes, this is going to be one of those annoying stories that ignores most of the Voldemort storyline, but I don't care. I needed to write something not focused on that.

-:-O-:-

**[Healing Wounds]**

_The Three Part Story  
of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy_

Part I: The Wounds

Harry rolled the plans to Hogwarts castle up carefully, securing them with a rubber band, before placing them in the pile with the other rolled-up scrolls. Sighing, he sank into his large armchair and closed his eyes. Picking his scotch up and placing it next to his lips, he took a long drink and exhaled in appreciation. It had been a long and trying meeting, one which Harry didn't want a repeat of. It was inevitable, though. Every meeting of the Order was just as tiresome.

"I'm off to bed, Harry. You'll be all right, won't you?" Remus Lupin stood in the doorway, a look of concern on his face. He knew more than most how much this war was taking out of the boy and it saddened him to think of someone so young bearing the weight of such a responsibility.

"Yeah, I'll be fine, Remus," Harry replied, opening his eyes and looking at his pseudo-godfather, who just nodded in reply and headed off to bed. Harry just sat in the comfortable chair, reflecting on what had happened these past few years.

Harry was now nineteen and living in a world of fear and conflict. It was hard to conceive the changes that had gone on in that time, but Harry remembered them clearly. That was something that hadn't been damaged during the war: his memory. It was probably one of the few things he wished had been.

His seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry began just as any other did. Somehow, after hours and hours of argument, he had agreed to go back, provided that he received extra training in his spare time. That demand was, thankfully, met. In between classes, Quidditch and studying for NEWTs, Harry managed to find time to learn duelling, non-verbal magic and even some wandless magic – a feat accomplished by only a few members of the wizarding world. Now, as he sat in his armchair at Grimmauld Place, he was glad he had gone back; extremely glad he had received that training. Without it, he would probably be dead.

Then he graduated.

Everything changed once Harry graduated. It all happened so fast and so suddenly that Harry still found it startling. Attacks by the Death Eaters became more frequent and grew in intensity. The search for the Horcruxes, a quest only a few people were privy to, resumed in full. Remus had, thankfully, done some research and tracked the mysterious "R.A.B." down – being none other than Regulus Black. The locket was quickly found and destroyed. The goblet of Helga Hufflepuff soon followed. That took them until the end of the next year alone. It was then that disaster struck. That was the Battle of Christmas Eve.

It had been Christmas Eve. Everyone thought they were safe. Everyone simply assumed Voldemort wouldn't attack on such a night. He did. It was horrific; Diagon Alley was hit, so was Hogsmeade and several other wizarding villages Harry hadn't even known existed. Harry had been with the Weasleys when the firecall had come in that Death Eaters were attacking at least twenty locations simultaneously. Harry, Ron and Hermione went to Diagon Alley to fight. It was mayhem; complete and utter chaos.

That was the night Harry had lost Ginny. The two of them had stopped dating, but they still couldn't help getting together from time to time, to show each other that they still cared. Harry loved her; not as much as he once had, but the loss still hit him hard. Not to mention he lost Dean Thomas that night. He was killed fighting Death Eaters in Hogsmeade. Then there was Hagrid and Tonks, both of them died in battle on that night also. But the four of them weren't even the worst. Harry lost one more person that night, someone he had hoped never to lose.

Harry lost Hermione.

After that night, Harry was never the same. He had already lost so much, but to have Hermione, taken away from him, it had been too much. Harry could never remember crying so much in his whole entire life. The pain had been never-ending. Even now, when he thought back on it, tears began to fill his eyes. Ron had been devastated too. They had planned to marry as soon as the war ended.

Life during war, though, allowed no time for rest, no time for mourning, and the quest to kill Voldemort and destroy the remaining pieces of his soul continued. The flute of Rowena Ravenclaw was destroyed, leaving only Nagini and the piece of soul left within Voldemort himself. There was little they could do about Nagini, at least at this point in time, and the plans for the final battle they had been formulating earlier that evening had had to include killing Nagini in them. So far, Harry was satisfied with the plans. He wasn't looking forward to fulfilling them, but he was ready for the pain and suffering to end. That was what drove him to do what had to be done.

Harry took another sip of his scotch, when he felt something he hadn't felt in a while. In an instant he was up, wand drawn, ready to fight for his life. There was several possible plausible explanations, but in the middle of a war, one was always prepared for the worst.

"You feel it?" Remus's voice caused Harry to jump in shock.

"Yeah," he replied. "It could be nothing."

"Or it could be something."

"I'll go first." Remus just nodded. He knew that Harry was, after all, the more proficient wizard – the countless hours of training in preparation for his task ahead had ensured that. When the wards to the house had been breeched, when someone who may want to harm them had entered the grounds, Harry was the better choice to go first.

Harry slowly made his way down the steps, his wand ready to stun any movement. Remus came down behind him. He was slowly, methodically checking every room, scanning the house from the inside out, making sure no one could get around them and find the scrolls rolled up in the room they had just left. Not only was he protecting his life and the life of his makeshift father, he was protecting the hope of the entire wizarding world. As Harry checked the final room, with Remus watching his back, he knew that the intruder was not yet inside the house. Both of them turned slowly towards the front door.

"You open the door," Harry stated simply, "I'll put up the shield." Remus didn't argue, merely flicked his wand – causing the door to swing open – as Harry said: "_Protego_."

Nothing happened.

Harry looked up at Remus, before dropping his shield and moving outside the door. It was a foggy night, which made it hard to see anything clearly. He could see the front fence and his front garden. He squinted his eyes to see more, scanning the small patch of lawn to find the person who managed to breach the wards (Harry knew the spells on the house himself, and thought it was impenetrable). His eyes swept once more, and this time he caught the shadow of a person – a person with platinum blonde hair that Harry would know anywhere.

"_Stupefy_!"

Draco Malfoy was soon lying on the ground, stunned. Remus came running out and joined Harry, leaning over Malfoy's body. Harry nodded and both soon had their wands pointed straight at the youth. Harry waved his free hand and muttered something under his breath.

"_Enervate_."

The junior Malfoy's eyes flickered open.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry demanded. "Why are you here? Did _he _send you?"

"No, Potter," Malfoy replied. His voice was hoarse, which surprised Harry. It had it's usual aristocratic sneer to it, but with nowhere near as much malice as Harry was used to. "I want... need..."

"Speak up, Malfoy," Remus stated, authoritatively.

"Sanctuary." Remus was shocked; Harry almost went into cardiac arrest. Both thought that Draco Malfoy asking for sanctuary from the Order of the Phoenix was the most ridiculous thing both had ever heard. That was, until Malfoy added, "Please."

Harry didn't know what to say. The wheels in his mind began to turn over until, finally, he nodded. He had no idea what possessed him to let Draco Malfoy, of all people, into his house, but he did. At least he had enough brain cells to ask some questions first. Remus noticed the look on Harry's face and knew what that meant. He nodded, bowing to a decision he knew he couldn't overturn if he tried.

"Just let him have a glass of water first," was all he said. "He sounds parched." With that, Remus apparated inside.

Of all the things that he thought were sad in this war, this had to be the worst of them. No matter how many people were killed, no matter how many lives were ruined, Remus thought that the life of the sweet and innocent thirteen-year-old Harry Potter he had known had been ruined the most. Remus was one of only two people who actually knew what Harry did to people in his basement, and he was sure Ron didn't know the extent that Harry went to. Remus did. He didn't hear it or see it, but the signs were clear enough. He knew someone had to do it – even if forcibly extracting information was more a characteristic associated with the darker side – he just didn't think Harry should have to be the one to do so. The boy had to do too much in this war already.

As Remus sat at the door to the basement, waiting for Harry to return upstairs, Harry apparated Malfoy inside.

"Sit down Malfoy," he said dryly. "And here, drink this." Malfoy took the glass, but didn't immediately drink. Instead he looked around the basement with distaste.

"What is this place, Potter?"

"This is my basement. Now, drink." Malfoy did so.

"Veritaserum!" he sneered, angrily, tossing the glass onto the cement floor and letting it smash. "Veritaserum in my bloody water!"

"Yes, Malfoy. You don't expect me to trust you, now, do you?" Harry waved his hand and Malfoy was soon bound to the small wooden chair in which he sat.

"Wandless and non-verbal magic, Potter. I'm so impressed," Malfoy snapped, sarcastically.

"I'll take that as a compliment, since the Veritaserum forces you to tell the truth," Harry said stoically.

"You think I don't know that already?"

"What's your name?"

"Draco Lucius Black."

"Not Malfoy?" Even Harry was a little shocked at that.

"Not any more."

"Why?"

"Would you want to take on the name of that sick fuck?"

"No, but you aren't me."

"Let's just say I don't either." There was a pause.

Harry decided to, at least for now, not pursue any further, instead asking, "What have you been doing the past few years?"

"Breathing, sleeping, eating, et cetera. Seriously, Potter, have you never done this before?"

"Have you aided Voldemort in any way in the past three years?"

"Better. Yes." Even while seeking sanctuary, Malfoy had to be antagonistic.

"_How_ have you aided Voldemort? If you want sanctuary, Malfoy, you'd better be a bit more forthcoming."

"I fixed a cupboard to allow his followers into Hogwarts and it's Black, Potter, not Malfoy." Harry didn't think he could call Malfoy Black; that name, in his mind, was associated with a much nicer man. He heard a sigh and a voice add, "I'll answer your questions properly if you don't call me Malfoy; deal?" Harry looked at his rival and knew that it took him a lot to agree to that.

"_This must really mean something to him..."_

"Fine, but Black sounds... odd. It's well..."

"Sirius's name. I heard you were friendly with him. Draco, then."

"Draco then," Harry said uneasily. That would also take some getting used to. "How else, ummm... Draco?"

"I have aided Severus Snape in making potions, which I believe were given to the Dark Lord, though I was never told."

"Nothing else?"

"I was sent on one raid."

"Which one?"

"To Hogsmeade; on Christmas Eve."

"You were at Hogsmeade _that_ night?!"

"Yes, I was. The Dark Lord wanted a mass attack that night; he sent even those he normally wouldn't."

Harry couldn't think. Hermione may not have been in Hogsmeade that night, but Dean had and so had Ginny. Draco had been one of those Death Eaters that night; he was part of the group that killed them both.

"Have you ever killed someone?"

"No, never."

"Have you ever tortured someone?" Harry had heard that Dean had been hit with _Crucio_s until his body gave out.

"No, never."

"Have you ever used, or tried to use, an Unforgivable?" Harry's anger was subsiding, his tone merely challenging.

"Only once."

"Which one?! On who?!" Harry's anger rose once more, but it soon dissipated when Draco gave his answer.

"On you. It was-"

"-a _Crucio._ Of course." There was a pause as Harry let his anger melt away. By the sounds of it, Draco had done little in this war so far. "Why are you here?"

"I want sanctuary; protection from the legendary Order of the Phoenix."

"Why?"

"Because I can't handle being a Death Eater any longer."

"I thought you only made potions?"

"I do, but he still calls me to meetings. Not big ones with plans or anything, he doesn't trust me with stuff like that. No, just to see me and watch me bow before him. Make sure I'm still faithful. That sort of thing."

"Oh." Harry thought that sounded disgusting. "You did bow before him?"

"Yes, but only because he would have killed me otherwise. I'm not like you, Potter. I can't bind people to chairs with a wave of my hand."

"Please, call me Harry," Harry said, before he realised what he was saying. It wasn't long before his eyes widened in realisation at what he said. "Only because I'm calling you Draco. It would be... awkward," he added hastily.

"Of course," Draco said, one eyebrow raised. At least, to Harry's relief, he didn't comment further.

"I still don't understand why you put yourself in his service in the first place."

"Again, some of us can't do what you can, Harry. When Voldemort threatens those we love, it is remarkable what we will do." Harry had to agree on that.

"Your father?"

"God no! Don't be ridiculous. My mother, Harry."

"Of course. She was a Black."

"Yes, she was."

There was a short pause before Harry asked, "I have to ask, how did you get through the wards?"

Draco grinned before answering, "I'm surprised you haven't figured it out already. As we have just established, my mother was a Black."

"What's that got to do with anything."

"So you don't know?" Draco's brows arched. "Those with Black blood will always be able to apparate into the grounds of Grimmauld Place."

"You mean, Bellatrix LeStrange could come waltzing in here at any time?!"

"No. The Blacks were not that stupid. One would have to mean no harm to the house's current owner."

"Oh."

Harry paused in thought. There was little else he could ask. He knew he should trust Draco, but there was one last thing he wanted to do. Despite the fact that he had done it many, many times before, for some reason he didn't want to do it to Draco. Yet, curiosity was a powerful motivator, and Harry wanted to see what had made Draco change from the snooty aristocratic Death Eater he had known in school to his new person Harry barely recognised. His conscience told him it was wrong, but Harry couldn't help himself.

"There's is one more thing we must do," he lied. "It's sort of standard procedure with people in your situation." That put fire into Draco's eyes.

"My _situation_?! Am I even a person to you, Potter."

"Yes, but I still have to follow through. I've found this works best."

"Fine then, Potter, what is it?" Harry couldn't say it; he just did it.

"_Legilimens_."

A phantasmagoria of images flashed before Harry's eyes as he entered Draco's mind with ease. There was Draco making potions; there was Draco kneeling before Voldemort; there was Draco receiving the Dark Mark; there was Draco being told what he had to do, or else Voldemort would kill his mother; there was Draco the night Dumbledore died. It was only a few memories, the important ones, enough to understand why Draco was here, in his basement, wanting protection. That was all he needed; he thought that satisfied his curiosity. He planned on getting out then, but something caught his attention. It was a stray memory that, for some reason, Harry felt compelled to pursue. He couldn't help himself, he did. What happened next, he couldn't explain: his control slipped; he watched memory after memory, unable to help himself, easily blocking Draco's attempts to repel him. On and on it went, until he had seen it all. Harry sunk deeper and deeper into Draco's memory until every last recollection he had, Harry had seen.

Only then did he withdraw from his former rival's head.

"You bastard! You fucking bastard!" he heard Draco cry. It wasn't until then that Harry was forced back into reality and he realised what he just done. His mind reeled; he wanted to turn around and vomit. He had just invaded Draco on the deepest of levels; he had stolen his most private of thoughts. Lifting the silencing and locking spells on the room, Harry staggered up the steps out of the basement. Hearing the commotion, Remus opened the door and made his way into the room.

"What happened?" he asked cautiously.

"You mother-fucking bastard!"

When Harry didn't reply, Remus continued, "Harry, what did you do?" Harry didn't answer, but just staggered out of the basement, back up the stairs to his room, through it into his en suite, where he promptly vomited into the toilet.


End file.
